Defiance
by TwiLyght Sans Sparkles
Summary: "I will not lay my son on the Dark Lord's altar," Narcissa said quietly. "If Lucius wants to slit his wrists for the bastard, that's his business." Strong Cissy. Slight AU. DH based.
1. Part One

_I've been playing with this idea for the past few days, and thought I'd write a fic about it. Tell me if you like it! _

* * *

A bloody house-elf.

That's what the famed Dark Lord had reduced her son to. A childlike mess of a boy who cringed at every sharp word, shuddered at every criticism, winced at every sudden flick of the wand. He gulped when anyone but Narcissa said his name, and spent much of his vacations locked in his room or pretending to read a schoolbook. He rarely spoke unless spoken to, and even then his answers were short: "Yes," "No," or "I'm not sure." It didn't take a genius to see that Draco Malfoy was a shadow of his former self.

Narcissa Malfoy was not a genius, by any stretch. Her grades at Hogwarts were above average, but below excellent. Nor was she a psychologist. But she _was_ a mother, and she knew when her son needed help.

He wouldn't accept it, of course. Men rarely did, and men of his social class were expected to refuse it at all costs. War didn't strengthen the fragile male ego.

Neither did the Dark Lord.

Narcissa had waited a year before taking matters into her own hands. The Unbreakable Vow with Severus had ensured Draco's success, but not without a price. When the Dark Lord learned the truth about Dumbledore's death, he turned on Draco.

"_You_ were supposed to kill him! Not Severus!"

He had taken a step backward, toward the manor. "I-I'm sorry, my lord...I tried-"

"You _tried_." The Dark Lord gave out a cold, high-pitched laugh that made Narcissa shiver. "I gave you a _year_!"

"He's dead, isn't he?"

The Dark Lord's thin mouth twisted in revulsion, and his reply was a single word: "_Crucio_."

Narcissa wanted to scream. She wanted to shout her frustration, her rage, her fear for her son, but all she could do was stand there and watch, tears blurring her vision.

He had left Draco alive, and expected her gratitude in return. Her son survived, didn't he? He was punished for his wrongdoing and rewarded with his life.

Gratitude was the last thing she wanted to give that monster.

It took her two weeks to work up the nerve to visit her sister. Not Bellatrix, but the other. The one whose name had been burned from the family tapestry.

Once she recovered from the shock of seeing her sister, she asked the obvious question: "Why?"

Narcissa framed the words before she spoke them. "I will not lay my son on the Dark Lord's altar, Andromeda," she said quietly. "If Lucius wants to slit his wrists for the bastard, that's his business."

Andromeda stood and poured them each a cup of tea. "What are you willing to do, Cissy?"

"Anything."

Her sister smiled a wry sort of smile and handed Narcissa a cup. Then, she outlined a plan.

"That won't work," Narcissa had said. "We're- they're watching the owls. I can't communicate with you."

Andromeda had smiled. "There are other, more secure ways of communicating."

It took her weeks to cast her first Patronus, and even longer to turn the silver-white sparrowhawk into a messenger. As Andromeda would later inform her, this was no small feat. It took most wizards months to master the Charm, and many spent weeks trying and failing to send messages through it. For Narcissa, the thought of Draco's freedom was too powerful to resist. She thought of it whenever she conjured the slivery bird and bent it to her will.

_

* * *

Potterwatch _was the kind of thing the Dark Lord would give his right hand to discover: a wealth of information on the Order's progress, a treasure trove of knowledge for those patient enough to listen and interpret. Narcissa was only too happy to send Death Eater plans and tactics through her Patronus, when plans and tactics came to her attention. She never asked for information- Lucius and Bellatrix would become suspicious, if she did- but she listened carefully when they spoke, staring at a book or her plate or a spot on the wall, preserving her cover as the supportive, ignorant wife.

She read Lucius' letters whenever she could. This often meant creating a distraction on the other side of the manor or in the garden, scanning his half-finished letter quickly, setting it back on his desk, and dashing off to decode what she had memorized. Yaxley had sworn up and down that the owls were secure, but you could never be too careful.

Draco came home for Christmas more depressed than ever. The weight of his responsibilities- real or imagined by the Dark Lord- were taking their toll. Narcissa saw it in his averted gaze and the way he let his white-blond hair fall over his eyes. She heard it in his voice and saw it in his slow, unconfident gait. He used to walk like a prince, but now his heavy stride and quick, nervous glances reminded her of Dobby.

Dobby. All those years and Narcissa had never considered how the house-elf might feel. He was a house-elf, after all, not her son.

If she saw Dobby again, she would apologize. Not nearly enough to compensate for his treatment, but it would have to do.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, Lucius went to his study to write a letter to the Ministry. Narcissa took a handful of potatoes, lit them on fire, and tossed them into the oven, then added a spell to ensure the fire wouldn't be easily dealt with. Instructing the house-elf to tell Lucius about the smoke, she Apparated into the bathroom next to her husband's study so she could listen and not be seen. Despite the manor being the Dark Lord's new headquarters and Bellatrix being their new roommate, the bathroom was usually empty.

As luck would have it, that was not the case.

When Narcissa appeared, Draco jumped, slicing into his cheek with his razor before he dropped it in the sink. He whirled around, eyes wide. "Mum! What are-"

Recovering her wits, Narcissa clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sh! Not another word!" she hissed, then listened intently. Lucius was hurrying out of his study, the house-elf close behind, repeating the excuses Narcissa had given her. Feeling a stab of relief, Narcissa released her son. He stumbled back against the counter, grey eyes round as Sickles, blood dripping down his pale cheek. Words seemed to have fled him.

Narcissa took a bottle of dittany from the cupboard over the sink and poured a drop onto the cut. It healed instantly.

"Mum?"

She exhaled, wiping the blood from her hand while she racked her mind for an explanation. "Your father and aunt will be gone tonight," she said at last. "I'll explain then."

* * *

"You're mental."

Narcissa said nothing, hands clasped in her lap.

Draco gripped the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white. "Why did you tell me? Why didn't you..." He trailed off, clenching his teeth as he gazed out at the snow-covered courtyard.

"What would you have done, if I hadn't told you?"

He gave a mirthless laugh. "I wouldn't have thought you lost your mind."

"I'll tell you what you would have done." She stood, crossed the kitchen, and leaned against the counter. "You would have told your father."

Draco looked at her, then looked away.

"You would have told him," she continued, "and he would have asked me. No explanation I gave him would have satisfied him, so he would have mentioned it to Bella, and we both know what she would have done."

He still didn't look at her, but he paled a shade.

"Look at me, Draco." She held his gaze. "The only reason I'm doing this is to keep you safe."

"_Safe_? Mum, you're putting us all in danger! You know what the Dark Lord will do if he finds out?"

"It can't be any worse than watching him torture my son!"

"I _failed_, Mum! That's why he did it!"

"No." Narcissa took his face in her hands. "No, Draco. The task was too much for you. You knew it. I knew it. He set you up for failure, then made an example of you when you did what was expected of you."

He pulled away, walked a few paces, and turned around. "He'll kill us all, Mum."

"Not if Potter kills him first."

At the mention of Potter's name, Draco looked away. "Potter. What can _he_ do? He's _my age_!"

"Potter defeated the Dark Lord when he wasn't yet two. I'm sure he can do it again at seventeen."

A moment passed; neither spoke. Narcissa stared out at the courtyard. Snow sifted gently down from a velvet sky. "I'll help you, then."

"I can't let you."

"And I can't let you spill our secrets to the Order, but here we are, talking about just that." He drew a breath. "Two are better than one, Mum."

Narcissa turned away. He was right, of course. Now that he knew, she would have to recruit him somehow. Two against the Dark Lord stood a better chance than one.

But getting him involved...

"I can't risk your life like that, Draco."

"Mum." She looked at him. "I'm already risking my life. I'd rather risk it for you than for _him_."

Tears stung her eyes, and she looked away. "If I lost you..."

"Look at me." His voice was gentle, his eyes moist. "I'm joining you, whether you like it or not."

She nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak.

* * *

By the end of the Christmas holiday, Draco still hadn't grasped the Patronus Charm. Narcissa wasn't worried. It had taken her nearly a month, practicing every spare minute, to master the charm. "You'll have it down by Easter."

"Where am I supposed to practice?"

Narcissa shrugged. "Hogwarts is a big castle. Surely there's some place that isn't monitored by the Carrows."

Evidently he found one, because in mid-February, he sent her a letter. Once she decoded it, she had to restrain a whoop of joy; he'd cast his first Patronus, and it was a falcon.

She wrote back with instructions for turning the bird into a messenger. _Send all sensitive information to me through your Patronus, _she wrote, burying the words in other sentences and paragraphs, hiding "Patronus" in several words. _I'll relay it to the Order. _

Narcissa tied the letter to the family owl's leg, then sat back in her chair. Her heart pounded in her ears.

If the Order lost the war, she and Draco would be the first to die.

* * *

_So yeah...this will be short. A two- or three-shot, at the most. Just tell me what you think, 'kay? _


	2. Part Two

_Looks like this will end up being a four-parter. I sort of underestimated...on the other hand, I had an idea for a companion piece, if this turns out okay.  
_

_And thanks to everyone who reviewed: L.A.H.H., Oracle92, Monologuing at a Mirror (awesome pen name), flamingbunnies, RemmyBlack, JoStone and Discord in the Garden. _

* * *

Narcissa met Draco on Platform Nine and Three Quarters at the start of Easter holidays. He greeted her with a smile. Pleasantly surprised, Narcissa smiled back.

"How is Hogwarts?"

His smile didn't fade. "I'll tell you more when we get home."

* * *

He filled her in on his classes (full marks in Potions, Dark Arts, Charms and Muggle Studies, with high grades in nearly everything else) and his responsibilities as Head Boy. Narcissa filled in the blanks with information gleaned from his coded letters and the few messages he'd sent with his Patronus. Potions was still his favorite class, and Charms was much easier now that he had mastered the Patronus. He was guaranteed good grades in Dark Arts and Muggle Studies; the Death Eaters teaching them were obliged to help one of their own. He wasn't Head Boy for any reason other than the Mark on his arm. Draco knew it, and the other students knew it, too.

"They're a sulky bunch," he said, sipping his tea. "Glare at anyone who looks at them funny. Pansy and I've had our hands full dealing with them."

Narcissa forced a knowing smile, hoping it didn't resemble a grimace. Problem students—most frequently half-bloods—got detention with a Slytherin or another pureblood who needed practice with the Cruciatus Curse. His letters had hinted at his dislike of performing the curse, and the hollow look in his eyes confirmed it.

"You're getting it down though, aren't you?" Lucius asked with a slight frown. "It's an important skill to learn."

Draco nodded. "Oh, yes. The Carrows say I'm improving every day."

"That's my boy!" Bellatrix crowed.

"Yeah, I found a tutor. Been helping me get it down."

Narcissa set her teacup on her saucer and looked at him in surprise. "A tutor? Who?"

He smiled. "Name's Asteria Greengrass. One of the best in her year. Certainly the best in her House."

"You needed a_ tutor_?" Bellatrix sounded horrified.

Lucius had other concerns. "She's not a Slytherin?"

Draco took a swallow of tea. "Ravenclaw. Fifth year prefect. Volunteers for detentions more than any of her Housemates."

"Is she pretty?" Narcissa asked. Bellatrix kicked her under the parlor table.

Draco laughed. "Don't know if _pretty_ is the word I'd use. I mean, she _is_ a Ravenclaw. But she's passable."

Narcissa couldn't help smiling at the lie. Her son's smile—genuine for the first time in months—revealed the truth: Asteria Greengrass was beautiful.

* * *

For the next four days, Lucius seemed determined to learn every detail of his son's past few months at Hogwarts—particularly the doings of a group that called itself Dumbledore's Army.

"They haven't caused you too much trouble, have they?"

Draco shook his head. "Toward the beginning of the year, they put graffiti up on all the walls—"Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting"—but they're gone now. Made them scrub it off the way Muggles do."

Lucius winced, then laughed. "I'd say that taught them."

"That's what I thought, but we've had more detentions than ever lately. No graffiti, but the same spirit."

"Have the Carrows found who's in charge?"

"If Longbottom isn't in charge, he's pretty high up in the ranks, Amycus says."

Lucius laughed, and Narcissa moved from the armchair to the parlor sofa. Closer to the doorway, she could better hear what they were saying in the next room. "_Longbottom_? Honestly! Could Amycus choose anyone more unlikely?"

"That's what I say, but Longbottom's stubborn. Amycus says he _must_ be up to something, with that perseverance. I think he's covering for someone more competent, but he's caused a nasty bit of trouble for us along the way."

There was a faint note of respect in his tone. Lucius would likely brush it off as the grudging admiration of a clever foe—perfectly normal, and completely acceptable in their circle.

"What does Severus think?"

"Hasn't said much one way or the other."

Narcissa smiled to herself. Draco was following the Headmaster's lead.

* * *

The Easter holidays passed too quickly. From the few minutes she had with him, Narcissa gathered that Asteria Greengrass had gotten him involved with Dumbledore's Army; that Neville Longbottom was indeed in charge; and that when the Carrows weren't watching, the Cruciatus Curse was surprisingly easy to fake. Thanks to the illusion of cruelty the deception created, Draco had gained esteem in the eyes of the Carrows and the Headmaster.

"None of the other teachers are too keen on students using it," he told her, "but they're just as powerless as I am, so their opinion doesn't count for much."

_"Cruciatus Curse still used on students," _she told Andromeda through her Patronus. _"Resistance continues, despite risks. Dumbledore's Army thriving. Potter has not been caught or seen. Dark Lord assumes he still lives." _

On Friday evening, Narcissa sank into her favorite armchair in the drawing room and opened a book. For the first time since June, she allowed herself the luxury of reading it; Lucius, too, was reading, and Draco had his homework fanned out on the table in front of him. There was no information to absorb, no secrets to ingest, so she accepted the opportunity to relax with quiet pleasure. The grandfather clock in the hall ticked away the minutes, and the sky behind the windows faded to a deep blue-black.

Three sharp knocks sounded at the door. Narcissa jumped, nearly dropping her book. Draco swore; a large ink stain blotted out several words in the center of his parchment.

The visitor knocked again.

Lucius started to rise, but Narcissa was already on her feet. A few quick steps and she flung the door wide.

Light flooded the front step, illuminating Fenrir Greyback, Scabior, and five prisoners. Narcissa blinked, hoping her eyes deceived her. "What is this?"

Greyback stepped forward. "We are here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

Narcissa took them in at a glance: three Snatchers, a goblin, a boy she didn't recognize, and the one boy she least wanted to see on her front step. "Who are you?"

But she already knew.

* * *

It was a disaster from beginning to end.

Narcissa hadn't expected any differently, but the blow was still stunning. Whether it ended in victory or defeat depended on one's perspective.

The prisoners were gone, every one of them stolen from the mansion's cellar by Dobby. After dropping the chandelier on Hermione Granger and suffering a blow from Bellatrix, he escaped with Harry Potter, the latter having possession of every wand but Narcissa's. For the Order and its allies, the night ended in tragic victory. And had Bellatrix refrained from summoning the Dark Lord, the entire mess could have been swept under the rug.

He knew before he arrived, somehow, that Harry Potter was missing. Perhaps it was the looks of shock worn by everyone, or the fact that the cellar was empty. Maybe it was his strange, oft denied connection with the Boy Who Lived. Or maybe he simply assumed that whenever Draco was involved, plans had a tendency to go awry. It must have been the last, Narcissa decided. Why else would he blame her son?

"How_ dare_ you!" he had cried, long strides closing the distance between him and Draco. "How dare you let him escape!"

Draco swayed slightly, but stayed rooted to the floor, as though claiming his territory. "I-I didn't call you, my lord."

"I don't care who called me; I care that I am here and Harry Potter is not!" He waved his wand, and Draco flinched. "Was he even here? Or was this all a ruse to gain my favor?"

"He was here...my lord." His voice was steady, but barely above a whisper. "Ask Bellatrix if you don't believe me."

The Dark Lord turned. "Well, Bellatrix?"

"Harry Potter was here, my lord. It was Draco's incompetence that aided his escape."

With great effort, Narcissa held her ground. Had the Dark Lord not been there, she would have flown at her sister, hair flying, wand blazing. She had closed her eyes, knowing what was coming, dreading the word and the sound it would bring.

He had left a few minutes later. Only after she heard the soft pop that signified the Dark Lord's departure did Narcissa open her eyes.

Her son lay facedown on the floor, drawing breath in ragged gasps. Narcissa started to kneel beside him.

"Don't."

Lucius' voice was hoarse, as though he had silently screamed with his son. Narcissa saw him standing on the other side of the drawing room, grasping the back of a chair with both hands. "Excuse me?"

"Leave him. Just...leave him."

"Better listen to your husband, Cissy." Bellatrix's eyes glittered. "Draco needs to learn his lesson."

Narcissa froze, weighing the benefits of open defiance against the cost. "Tilly."

The house-elf appeared, her brown eyes round with fright.

"Take Draco up to his room, please."

"Mind you aren't too gentle," Bellatrix added, "or you'll share Dobby's fate."

When the elf was gone, Narcissa turned on her sister. Grabbing a handful of her robes, she pulled Bellatrix closer, pressing her wand to her throat.

"This is the last time, Bellatrix." Her voice was a whisper. "If you _ever_ endanger my son again, or insult him in any way, I will kill you with my bare hands."

With a shove, Bellatrix landed on the floor. Narcissa swept past her into the kitchen without another word.

* * *

He lay curled on his side on his bed, facing the window. Tilly stood in the corner, wringing her hands.

"Tilly did the best she could," the elf said, "without going against Miss Bella's orders."

"You did fine, Tilly." Narcissa set the cup of tea on her son's nightstand. "You may go."

Tilly vanished. Narcissa sat down beside her son and stroked his hair. It was silky, the way it had been when he was small. If she closed her eyes, she could picture Draco as a small child once more, sweet and carefree, asleep after a long day with his playmates.

"Muffliato," he said after a moment.

Narcissa opened her eyes. The harsh reality collided with her daydream: Not a carefree boy, but a grown one, recovering not from a day of fun, but from torture. "Muffliwhat?"

"Muffliato," he muttered again. "Just cast it."

She did. "What did that do?"

"Makes it so no one can hear us." He rolled onto his back and smiled painfully. "Snape taught it to me."

"You're sure it works?"

"I've tested it."

She nodded. If Draco had tested it, she would trust it. She'd sooner trust a spell from Snape than from Bellatrix. "Can you sit up?"

Wincing, he lifted himself up onto his elbows; Narcissa caught him before he fell and propped him upright on his pillows. She thrust the tea into his trembling hands and lifted it to his lips. He sipped, sniffed and stared at the brew.

"What kind is it?"

"Chamomile, with a few ingredients of my own. Blackberry, peppermint, that sort of thing. Should help ease the pain. Do you like it?"

He nodded. She pulled her hand away, letting him hold the cup on his own. "He's going to kill me, isn't he."

Narcissa fought a surge of fear—whether from Draco's prediction or the resigned tone he used, she wasn't sure.

"It makes sense, doesn't it? Blames me for everything, gives me the nastiest jobs..." He drew a breath, this one slightly less ragged than the last. "He's going to do it, Mum. All he needs now is an excuse."

For a long moment, Narcissa couldn't speak. She knew Draco was right, and yet she felt no sorrow. No lump closed her throat; no tears stung her eyes. There was only rage, so hot she felt she might suffocate from the sheer force of it.

From rage came determination.

Narcissa stood and kissed the top of his head. "I'll kill him before I let him touch you."

Her mind made up, she left his room.


	3. Part Three

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed: RavenclawRebel, Oracle92, L.A.H.H., RemmyBlack, Husky713, and flamingbunnies!_

_And I have lied once again. This will probably be at least five chapters. _

* * *

Narcissa spent much of the next two days alone in her room. Lucius kept to the rest of the manor or to his own suite. When she ventured out, Bellatrix might cross her path long enough to give her a reproachful look or a halfhearted insult, but they fell on deaf ears.

She sent her Patronus to Andromeda moments after leaving Draco in his room. "_It is time," _she had said. "_Dark Lord cannot be allowed free reign any longer. No more innocents must die." _

Andromeda's silver osprey came to her as dawn tinged the sky with grey. "_Are you sure this is a move we should make?" _

Narcissa assured her she was.

Saturday and Sunday passed in a flurry of Patronuses, sealed behind a locked door and muted to the world by Muffliato. Andromeda's osprey, Kingsley Shaklebolt's lynx, and Minerva McGonagall's tabby all added their input to the plan. By Saturday afternoon, only a few principles had been set in stone: The number of insiders would be kept small, but large enough to provide the assassin with protection should something go wrong; whoever killed the Dark Lord would have to be close enough to strike without arousing suspicion; and the plan would not move forward until every detail was smoothed out.

There was no question in Narcissa's mind as to who would play the role. "_He suspects me of nothing," _she told her sister and Shacklebolt. _"I could slit his throat in broad daylight and he still wouldn't believe I was capable."_

She knew the Order had chosen her as well, even before the Patronuses poured in through her window. Once she convinced them she was the woman for the job, moves, countermoves and contingency plans came together with such speed Narcissa could scarcely keep track. As she listened to ideas, tossed back and forth like the Quaffle in the Quidditch World Cup, she wondered how long they had plotted before Narcissa volunteered for the main role. She fit into their plans so well the part seemed to have been written for her.

On Monday morning, she handed Draco her wand. "You're going back to Hogwarts," she said. "You'll need it more than I do."

He closed the lid of his school trunk. "You're sure?"

"It's the only wand left in the house, Draco," she told him, "and I'm not allowed to leave."

"Still."

Narcissa held her wand out to him. Their eyes met, and she knew he understood: Relaying information to the Order was now his responsibility. He tucked the wand into his belt.

"Thanks."

A knock sounded at the door. Muffled voices floated up from the entryway. Narcissa gave her son an apologetic smile. "Your guards are here."

Draco sniffed. "More like jailers."

She pulled him into an embrace. "Be careful."

"I will, Mum."

He pulled away, tapped his trunk with her wand, and carried it down the stairs.

* * *

Once Draco left for Hogwarts, Bellatrix abandoned her policy of avoidance, following Narcissa around like a rather talkative stray dog.

"Odd that the Dark Lord allowed Draco to return to Hogwarts, isn't it, Cissy?"

"He needs to complete his education."

Bellatrix leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded. "Still, it's rather strange he'd want a whelp like that to be educated."

Narcissa sat at her desk, refusing to look at her sister. "I suppose he doesn't want another Crabbe or Goyle on his hands."

"I doubt it will make much difference. After all, he didn't recognize Potter when he saw him."

"I didn't recognize him."

"He and Potter were schoolmates."

"Gryffindor and Slytherin, Bellatrix."

"They shared classes."

Narcissa turned sideways in her chair, lacing her fingers in her lap. "Are you quite finished?"

Bellatrix raised both eyebrows, her gaunt face taking on a look of feigned surprise. "I was merely suggesting..."

"What were you suggesting? That my son would intentionally allow Potter and his friends to escape, knowing such a deed would incur the Dark Lord's wrath? Do you think he _enjoys_ torture? Or did my dear sister jump to conclusions and blame her nephew when she was mistaken?"

Bellatrix opened and closed her mouth, but no words came out.

Satisfied, Narcissa turned back to her desk. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must write a letter to my son. You may read it when I'm finished, if you like."

Bellatrix turned and marched from the room without a word.

* * *

The tension of being trapped in the manor with no one but Lucius, Bellatrix and Tilly for company wore off after a few days. By Thursday evening, boredom had set in. She joined Lucius in the parlor once or twice, but the silence was no longer comfortable. It curled between them like Nagini, waiting to strike the moment it was disturbed. When Bellatrix entered the room, Narcissa stayed until her sister made her excuses and left.

She spent increasing amounts of time in her room, away from her husband and sister. Never before had she been grateful for a separate bedroom. It was the proper way to do things, she had been told, but hadn't seen the point until now. The only thing she longed for was her wand. Without the ability to respond to the Order's Patronuses, she felt abandoned and powerless. If only she could tell them not to involve her son in their plan.

One week after Draco returned to Hogwarts, Narcissa sat at her desk, composing a coded letter to her son. A flash of silver caught her vision; she watched it settle on her bed and assume the form of McGonagall's tabby.

_"Draco knows," _it said, and Narcissa's breath stuck in her throat. _"His input is invaluable. Consider him under my protection." _

Narcissa wept with gratitude.

* * *

March turned to April, and by mid-month, Narcissa had settled into a routine. She rose with the sun, lying in bed until well into the morning. Draco usually sent his Patronus just after dawn, and she listened to his message, whether it involved the Order or not. Sometimes his falcon had nothing to say and simply perched at the foot of her bed, regarding her with silver eyes. She did not resent her son's silence. He was alive and well enough to cast a Patronus—that alone was comforting.

As the shy flowers of April gave way to the bolder shoots of early May, the Patronuses came less frequently. Narcissa knew why: The Dark Lord was responding to the growing threat from Potter by tightening his grip on Potter's allies. Before Potter's escape from the manor, Arthur Weasley had occasionally sent his Patronus to her if the message was urgent. Now, the silver weasel had vanished, and even Andromeda's osprey came once a week at most. Only Draco's falcon remained, and in the final weeks of April, most of her news came solely from her son. Narcissa worried about the plan. A date had not been set, and within a few more weeks, every member of the Order would be under constant surveillance. The Dark Lord would live to kill her son.

The first of May dawned bright and cheery, a welcome respite from the harsh winter and cool early spring. Flowers splashed their colors across the courtyard, bordering the front path like a flamboyant line of guards. For the first time in months, Narcissa spent the morning and afternoon in the garden. She abandoned her shoes at the back door, and soft green grass tickled her bare toes. The sun warmed her skin, and for the first time in years, she felt a surge of hope. Something good was going to happen. She felt it like she felt the sun on her face.

Then, toward evening, Bellatrix screamed in rage.

Narcissa dropped her book and ran inside. Bellatrix stood by one of the front windows, clutching a piece of parchment in a clenched fist, howling in anger. An owl perched on the hall table, so still it might have been stuffed. Lucius stood frozen in the hall; he apparently didn't want to get any closer to his sister-in-law than the owl did.

"What is it, Bellatrix?" Narcissa stayed back. "What's wrong?"

Bellatrix let loose a stream of profanity, then translated: "Potter! Potter and his friends broke into my vault at Gringotts!"

Swallowing her fear, Narcissa darted forward and wrested the parchment from her hand. Lucius read over her shoulder while she skimmed. Lucius looked up first.

"The Cup was taken? But...can't it be recovered?"

"_Potter_ has the Cup, Lucius." Bellatrix spoke as though speaking to an ignorant child. "If the Dark Lord does not pursue him, the Cup will soon be long gone." Without another word, she raised her sleeve and pressed her Mark.

Narcissa stumbled backward. The Dark Lord was coming—not to find Potter, but to hear of a potential defeat. As much as she longed to see him writhing on the floor, crushed by the weight of his own downfall, this was only a small disaster—not the final, devastating blow she would deliver. Now, with the Dark Lord on his way and most likely enraged, Narcissa might never have the chance to end his life.

As she waited for his arrival, a single thought shone like a beacon through the storm raging in her mind: Draco was safe at Hogwarts. No matter how angry the Dark Lord was, his usual scapegoat was absent.

Narcissa relaxed. McGonagall was there. If—God forbid—the Dark Lord attacked Hogwarts, her son would have a chance at safety.


	4. Part Four

_Thanks to bluesheepy, LupineMoon, L.A.H.H., JoStone, flamingbunnies, RavenclawRebel, anon, Analie209 and RemmyBlack for reviewing, and to LupineMoon for adding it to your C2! Is it weird that I'm honored this story was classified as a tearjerker? _

_

* * *

_"Draco will find him."

Narcissa said nothing, preferring to stare at the flames rather than her husband. The surety in Lucius' voice was forced, grating on Narcissa's nerves. Did he think her stupid enough not to see through his charade?

Together with the Dark Lord, the Death Eaters formed a small circle around the fire. Aside from Lucius and Narcissa, who were unable to fight for lack of wands, the wizards circling the fire were the reserves, to be sent in if casualties became too heavy. Or so the Dark Lord said. Narcissa was certain they were the dregs, a last line of defense if the Order and the students of Hogwarts surprised him. She was grateful for this strategy; it meant she and Lucius weren't left with only the Dark Lord, two giants, and the Hogwarts gamekeeper for company.

As one of the only Death Eaters in Hogwarts when Potter arrived, Draco was tasked with finding the Boy Who Lived. Once again, he was expected to fail. Neither the Order nor Dumbledore's Army would give Potter up without a fight. When the battle began, Narcissa silently cheered their stubbornness. Potter would be the one to defeat the Dark Lord; Narcissa knew this like the knew her own name. Had she been able, she would have charged into the castle and defended Potter until some Death Eater ended her life.

Hours passed. Lucius stood and paced or held quick, whispered conversations with the others in the circle, while Narcissa hardly moved at all. She watched the flames lick the air and thought about one of the last Patronuses Draco had sent her.

_"Plan not yet ready, _he had said. _Order members under stricter surveillance. Hope that changes. I hate him as much as you do." _

The deadline for withdrawal from the castle approached, and Narcissa's hopes flickered like the fire. Draco wouldn't find Potter—not officially, at least. He might claim to have spotted the boy, then lost him within the depths of the school. Or maybe he would make up a story about having Potter by the wrist, then being confronted with seven Order members, all with blazing wands and terrifying anger. _"Had to let him go,"_ he would say. _"Would've killed me if I hadn't." _

Yes, Narcissa decided. It would happen just like that. She heard the Dark Lord order the Death Eaters inside the school to withdraw and felt a surge of relief mixed with apprehension. The Dark Lord's reaction to Draco's failure was what worried her. Would he torture him again? Or would he simply berate him for his mistake and give him a suitably degrading task, like making sure Hagrid didn't escape?

One by one, black-robed wizards entered the forest and took their places within the circle. Bellatrix was one of the first to appear, her face bloody. The beginnings of a bruise darkened one cheek.

"I saw your son, Cissy," she said. Narcissa looked up.

"When?"

Bellatrix sat next to the Dark Lord, who also watched her intently. "About an hour ago. Alive, last I saw him."

"Where was he?"

"Upstairs, in the company of some Ravenclaw girl." She smiled faintly, knowingly. "Neither seemed interested in fighting."

The Dark Lord turned his crimson eyes on Narcissa, and she quickly looked away. Yaxley entered the circle.

"It was that Greengrass girl," he said. "Alecto told me about her. Pity she's a Ravenclaw."

Narcissa relaxed, silently blessing the young Ravenclaw.

"Was he conscious?" the Dark Lord asked.

"He was when I saw him last," Rowle said, joining the group.

"Where is he _now_?"

Rowle and Yaxley shook their heads. Bellatrix turned her dark eyes on Narcissa, and her heart sank.

"Narcissa?"

Narcissa forced herself to briefly meet the Dark Lord's gaze. "I don't know what he thinks he's doing," she said softly. If he was alive, he had heard the orders to withdraw. If he defied them, it proved he was either a coward or loyal to the Order. If he hadn't heard them at all...

She swallowed a lump in her throat. She wouldn't think about that now. He was probably hiding in the castle somewhere, she thought, or unconscious. An hour was a long time, in the heat of battle. He hadn't betrayed his true colors-and he wouldn't. Not now, when the stakes were so high and victory was still within their grasp.

* * *

Minutes melted into each other as Potter's deadline approached. Narcissa fought to remain still, and her muscles ached with the effort. She longed to charge into the castle, screaming for her son, but knew the best she could do for him was wait. A housewife wasn't worth much to the Dark Lord, but if the housewife appeared loyal, her son would be under less suspicion. She rested her chin on her hands, staring into the forest. The smoke from the fire stung her eyes, but when Lucius offered her a seat a few feet back, she shook her head. If she stayed where she was, the others might think her tears were from the smokey fire, not for her son.

She felt the appointed hour approaching like a cold fog billowing in. Lucius put his hand on her shoulder, and she let it remain until he pulled away. A few Death Eaters rose and prowled the edges of the circle, watching for Potter. Hagrid bowed his head, eyes closed as though in prayer, lifting his eyes from time to time to peer through the mass of trees.

And in the center of it all sat the Dark Lord, head lowered, wand folded between his palms. Bellatrix remained by his side, stroking his arm or staring at him in rapt fascination.

Narcissa knew when the deadline had passed. Yaxley and Dolohov rejoined the circle, their boots crunching twigs and dead leaves underfoot. The Dark Lord raised his head.

"No sign of him, my lord," Dolohov said.

The fire made Bellatrix's dark eyes glitter like twin jewels. "My _lord_..."

"I thought he would come." The Dark Lord raised the wand between his fingers. "I expected him to come."

His eyes shone like flames in the firelight.

"I was...it appears...mistaken."

In the silence that reigned, Narcissa sensed a new kind of tension: the apprehension that comes when the master plan, the only plan, has failed. She also sensed that she alone felt relieved.

"You weren't."

The voice jerked Narcissa's attention to the edge of the circle. Harry Potter had appeared out of nowhere, wandless and alone.

"Potter," she breathed, but it was lost beneath the giants' roars and a few barks of laughter. Bellatrix leaped to her feet and stared at the boy with glittering eyes, chest heaving. Lucius stood as well, a faint smile curling his lips, but fear had frozen Narcissa to her seat.

Potter moved closer to the Dark Lord, closing the distance. The fire flickered between them.

"HARRY! NO!"

Hagrid had cried out, giving voice to the words that had gotten lost before Narcissa could speak them. Potter turned; the gamekeeper's cries became more desperate.

"NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT'RE YEH-"

"QUIET!" Rowle silenced Hagrid with a flick of his wand. No one moved. For a brief moment, Narcissa could have sworn time stood still.

"Harry Potter," the Dark Lord said softly. "The Boy Who Lived."

Narcissa watched, willing Potter to run. But her silent pleas did no more good than Hagrid's cries.

The Dark Lord raised his wand. Narcissa closed her eyes.

_"Avada Kedavra." _

The green light flashed behind her eyelids, and she heard a soft crash a second later—the sound of a body hitting the ground. Narcissa didn't open her eyes._  
_


	5. Part Five

_Thanks to the following reviewers: JoStone, L.A.H.H., RemmyBlack, The Glowing Mischief, Sister to the Dark Lord, flamingbunnies, Scylla and Charybdis and RavenclawRebel! Your support of this story is much appreciated. _

_

* * *

_Narcissa expected joy at Potter's death. She braced herself for cries of victory, flashing sparks and shrieks, and crude jokes about the boy's cowardice.

Instead, she heard frightened whispers.

Narcissa opened her eyes. To her right, Potter lay on the ground a few feet away, eyes closed, mouth open, glasses hanging off one ear. His face was pressed against the forest floor.

To her left, the Dark Lord lay spread-eagled on his back. His wand had landed six inches or so from his hand. Like Potter, his eyes were closed, and his mouth hung open as if in surprise. Bellatrix knelt beside him and placed a gentle, tentative hand on his cheek. Lucius joined a few others in clustering around their fallen master. Whispers flew through the air like frightened birds.

"Is he all right?"

"What happened?"

"Potter did something, I tell you. One last trick up his sleeve."

This last comment from Rowle went unchallenged. Narcissa could have pointed out that Potter was unarmed, but her voice had fled when the boy entered their circle. She didn't want to picture his face, terrified yet so assured of what he was about to do, before the Dark Lord had fired the curse, but it remained firmly etched in her mind. It flashed before her vision as though Potter still stood before the Dark Lord, patiently awaiting his death.

"My lord...my_ lord_..."

Narcissa blinked back tears and turned her attention from where Potter lay motionless on the ground. Bellatrix's sweet, oily voice was like salt in her wound. For an instant, Narcissa was seized with the desire to spring on her sister, pounding her with her fists until she collapsed on her beloved master. The thought died the moment it was born.

"My lord..."

"That will do," the Dark Lord snapped. Murmurs filled the air as he struggled to his feet.

Narcissa choked back a sob. If the Dark Lord had died when he killed Potter, the boy's sacrifice might have meant more than another blow in a long string of defeats.

"My lord, allow me-"

"I do not require assistance," he said coldly, and Bellatrix withdrew her hand. "The boy...Is he dead?"

All eyes turned on Potter, who lay motionless on the carpet of dead leaves.

"You." There was a bang. The blast from his wand hit Narcissa in the arm, and she yelped. "Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead."

Narcissa stood slowly, as though sleepwalking. Potter—her son's last hope—lay dead on the forest floor, and the Dark Lord had sent her to verify. Did he know what she had planned, the messages she'd sent to the Order? He must, she decided; why else would he send her? He wanted her to see for herself, to feel Potter's still heart and know, beyond a doubt, that Draco's last chance of survival had died.

She knelt down, fighting a surge of despair, and lifted an eyelid, then slipped her hand beneath his shirt. As she did, Narcissa thought she felt his breath flutter past her hand.

No...No, that was impossible. She'd seen him die.

Narcissa's own heart was racing as she inched her hand down until she found his heart. It beat like a trapped bird's wings against her palm.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. For the second time in his life, Harry Potter had survived a Killing Curse.

She had to hear his voice. She had to hear him speak and convince her, once and for all, that her fear-crazed mind did not deceive her. Narcissa bent her head a little lower, and her long hair concealed her face as she whispered: "_Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle_?"

And Potter's answer came, scarcely more than a breath. "_Yes_."

Narcissa wanted to embrace him. She wanted to kiss his dark hair and watch the Dark Lord's agony when she told him Potter lived. But not here. She wouldn't destroy him now by revealing his secret to this nest of vipers. Rather than embracing him, she pressed her hand to his heart—a sort of pledge to keep fighting, to continue with the strategies that had kept his allies safe for nearly a year. She withdrew her hand and stood, not bothering to contain a smile.

"He is dead!"

Loud bangs and cries of joy joined with the giants' roars as red and silver sparks lit the clearing. "You see!" the Dark Lord cried over the din. "Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! _Crucio_!"

Narcissa fought to keep her smile in place. Even if Potter managed to keep from screaming in pain, his face would give him away. She had seen the expression before, when her son tried bravely not to make a sound. She held her breath, waiting for the sound that would reveal the Dark Lord's failure and her deception.

But the sound never came.

Potter was thrown into the air, landing on his side. His glasses fell to the forest floor, but his face remained impassive. Twice more he was tossed about like a rag doll, but each time he fell lifelessly to the ground. Excitement was quickly replaced by fear. What if he hadn't survived? Had Narcissa merely imagined his heartbeat, his whisper that her son was alive?

Narcissa kept her smile firmly in place as Hagrid was untied and ordered to carry Potter to the castle. His glasses were retrieved and slammed onto his face so hard Narcissa feared they would break, but the gamekeeper lifted his young friend gently into his arms. Only then did she glimpse the pulse pounding in his neck.

As Lucius embraced her more heartily than he had in nearly twenty years of marriage, Narcissa felt a thrill of victory. The Dark Lord had sent her to confirm the boy's death not because he suspected her loyalty, but because he believed she gave him nothing less than complete devotion. He thought her too simple-minded to tell him anything but the truth. His shortsightedness, his underestimation of his least valuable follower, would lead to the crushing defeat Narcissa longed for. She laughed with her husband and her sister, but for quite a different reason. The knowledge made her laugh harder.

Only a chance look at Hagrid dampened her joy.

The gamekeeper trudged along, and Narcissa knew that only certain spells kept him moving. He cradled Potter like a small child in his trembling arms. Great tears splashed down over his beard. Against her will, Narcissa pictured herself, kneeling beside her son and stroking his pale cheek, unable to speak through her tears. If the coming battle was lost...

Narcissa blinked, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat. Harry Potter lived. Hagrid would know it soon enough, and his grief would turn to joy.

But in the meantime, Narcissa took the image as a warning. Hagrid mourned Potter the way a father mourned his son. As the procession emerged from the forest, Narcissa braced herself for what she would hear.

* * *

"NO!"

Minerva McGonagall's cry tore through Narcissa's joy like talons through parchment. Other, more anguished shouts followed.

"No!"

"No! NO!"

"Harry! HARRY!"

It would be foolishness to reveal Potter's secret now, utter madness to break free of the Death Eaters and announce that Harry Potter had not succumbed to the Killing Curse. And now, as she listened to their grief, that was exactly what Narcissa wanted to do. Bellatrix laughed, and Narcissa wanted to strike her.

"Fools," Lucius whispered in her ear. "Did they think Potter had a chance against the Dark Lord?"

Narcissa clenched her fist and smiled. If she imagined Potter leaping from Hagrid's arms and holding a wand to the Dark Lord's throat, she didn't have to force it. The sound of her allies shouting abuse at those with whom she stood swelled, growing louder and louder until—

"SILENCE!" The Dark Lord's voice rang out across the grounds, and his Silencing Charms took effect at the same moment. "It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!"

Hagrid lowered Potter gently to the ground.

"You see?" The Dark Lord's cold voice dripped with disdain. "Harry potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"

Two years ago, Narcissa might have believed it. She might have smiled at the Order's misery, knowing that the Dark Lord could never be defeated. Now, the lie rubbed on her already raw nerves.

"But he beat you!" Ron Weasley broke the Silencing Charm, and more shouts and screaming followed. Narcissa wondered if the Weasley boy recognized the truth in his own words. She scanned the crowd. No sign of her son. He had managed to hide somehow, she told herself. Draco was in the castle somewhere, accompanied by the Greengrass girl. Both were safely out of sight.

"I wonder, Lucius, why your son is not celebrating this victory with us?"

Narcissa's stomach made a slow, sickening turn. She watched her husband's face as he spoke.

"I...I thought...no one knows where he is, my lord..."

Heart racing, Narcissa scanned the crowd again. McGonagall caught her gaze and held it. Even at this distance, Narcissa saw the tears in her eyes- but those tears were for Potter, not for her son. Draco was fine. His loyalty remained safely hidden behind a thin layer of cowardice.

"Draco!" The false cheer in his voice froze Narcissa's feet to the ground. "Come out, Draco, and witness Harry Potter's death for yourself!"

A moment passed. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't throw his life at the Dark Lord's feet, not with victory so close. Harry Potter lived! Draco's life could be spared.

"Come here, Draco. Come here now, please."

Two figures appeared in the doorway: Her son and a girl Narcissa didn't recognize. Draco came forward, hair shining like silver in the light from the entrance hall, chin held high, grey eyes flashing. He clutched the shards of something in his hand.

Narcissa didn't look at the Dark Lord. She didn't want to see the triumphant smile stretching his thin lips. Tears blurred her vision, but she watched, transfixed with horror, as her son came to the front of the crowd.

"Draco Malfoy." Narcissa heard the smile in his tone, the pleasure and anticipation before a kill. "I have been looking for you."

Draco tossed the shards at the Dark Lord's feet. They lay there, black and twisted. Even now, mere feet away, Narcissa couldn't tell what the shards were from. "I suppose you were looking for this, too," he said, then raised an eyebrow in defiance. "My lord."


	6. Part Six

_Thanks to marjorienescio, ice cold wolf, Sister to the Dark Lord, Oracle92, flamingbunnies, The Glowing Mischief, Megii of Mysteri OusStranger, juventus, RavenclawRebel, Aaliyanna's-SeventhHeaven, PrincessOfWolves, RemmyBlack, L.A.H.H. and Analie209 for the reviews and your continuing support of this story! Your comments always make my day. :) _

_

* * *

_The Dark Lord glanced at the shards on the grass, then lifted a brow at Draco. "What is that?"

"Question is, what _was_ it? It's not much of anything now."

"I asked you a question, Draco."

"So did I."

Narcissa had played this game before. The goal was simple: Tear down your opponent without tipping your hand; call his bluff without letting him call yours. Her parents, Bellatrix, Lucius—nearly everyone within her husband's circle was a master, and the Dark Lord's skills in this particular game were unsurpassed. Now her son had challenged him, and Narcissa had the sick certainty that the game would end with his death.

"Do you know what it is or don't you?"

"I know Potter was looking for it."

Narcissa saw the Dark Lord tense almost imperceptibly. He recovered quickly, reassuming an air of disinterest. "And _where_ was Potter looking for it, Draco?"

"Does it matter? I mean, if the diadem wasn't important to you in the first place—"

The Dark Lord stiffened at the word _diadem, _and Narcissa knew her son had struck a blow. "Which diadem? Be specific, now."

"The one Potter was looking for. The one I destroyed."

The girl who had accompanied Draco out of the castle stepped forward. Her brown hair caught the light for an instant; then she took her place in the shadows beside Draco. "The one _we_ destroyed." She smiled slightly, resting her hand on his shoulder. "He had an accomplice."

"You little whore," Yaxley growled. "We thought you were with us."

With a start, Narcissa realized who she was: Asteria Greengrass, the Ravenclaw whose reputation had shielded her son from the Carrows. The one who had brought him into the ranks of Dumbledore's Army.

Asteria lifted an eyebrow. "I may or may not be a whore, Mr. Yaxley," she said her tone calm and even, "but I frankly don't see what promiscuity has to do with any of this."

"Ah, yes," the Dark Lord said, fingering his wand. "Asteria Greengrass. I have heard rumors. The fact that you are a Ravenclaw has been lamented. Had you been a Slytherin, you might have been saved...although, given the company you keep, that is doubtful." Smiling, he raised his wand. "_Crucio._"

Asteria fell to the ground, her screams of pain splitting the night. Draco cried out and started to kneel beside her, but the Dark Lord waved his wand, and Draco stood rigidly in place.

Narcissa's heart pounded in her ears, and she found it difficult to think. She forced herself to keep watching the Dark Lord, to keep from breaking rank and running to her son, in the faint hope she might find a way to save him. If she said nothing, the Dark Lord would ignore her—but the words she swallowed tore at her throat as harsh, panicked voices screamed through her head: _My son is going to die._

Beside her, Lucius too remained still. He stared at his son with disbelief, as though unable to comprehend his treachery. For the briefest moment, Narcissa knew what he was thinking: _Draco will return to the Dark Lord. The threat of death will change his mind. _

The Dark Lord turned and began pacing, back and forth, beside the place where Harry lay. "Your hero is dead," he told the crowd. "He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds, killed while trying to save himself—"

Narcissa heard a shout that might have been "No!" or some other word of protest; the ensuing scuffle obscured it. There was a bang and a flash of light, and a boy fell to the ground with a grunt of pain.

"And who is this?" the Dark Lord demanded. "Who volunteers to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"

Bellatrix laughed with glee. "It is Neville Longbottom, my lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?"

Narcissa glanced at her son and saw a rueful smile touch his lips. His eyes were focused on Neville; he seemed determined not to look at her.

"Ah, yes, I remember." The Dark Lord's tone was measured and slow, relishing the moment. "But you are a pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy?"

A quick glance at Draco and Asteria; then back to the Dark Lord. Neville's hands curled into fists. "So what if I am?"

"You show spirit and bravery, and you come from noble stock." He paused to cast a contemptuous glance at Draco. "You would make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."

Narcissa could only stare at the Longbottom boy. Rage, shock and despair churned her insides to a cold stew, until she could hardly breathe. She knew what Longbottom's answer would be before he spoke.

"I'll join you when hell freezes over—the same day we give you Malfoy without a fight. Dumbledore's Army!" A cheer rose from the crowd, shattering the Silencing Charms. The Dark Lord didn't try to contain it, but smiled as he stroked Nagini's head with a single white finger. Narcissa's sense of dread grew.

"Very well," he said when the cheers quieted some. "If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan." He waved his wand. "On your head be it."

A dark, misshapen object flew through the broken window, landing in the Dark Lord's hand. Narcissa saw, as she watched Nagini, that he held the Sorting Hat.

"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School," he said, loud enough for all to hear. "There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colors of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for all worthy of bearing it." Another glance at her son, who threw another reproachful glare back at him, and then he turned his attention back to Neville. "What do you say, Neville Longbottom?"

The Dark Lord waved his wand, freezing Neville's feet to the ground and his arms to his sides. He pushed the Hat onto his head, covering his eyes. All around her, the Death Eaters raised their wands, holding her allies at bay.

"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me." And with that, the Dark Lord flicked his wand, setting the Hat ablaze. Neville's scream pierced her heart; but she had no time to think what to do before rough hands seized her from behind. Only after she screamed in protest did she see the Dark Lord's crimson eyes, glowing in triumph. The look was turned not on her, however, but on Lucius. And in that instant, Narcissa knew this was to be his punishment for failing the Dark Lord, for raising a traitor: He would watch his son die.

Lucius held the Dark Lord's gaze for a moment, then looked away shamefully. He had accepted his punishment.

"And Draco will show us what happens to those who pledge me their loyalty and turn aside from that oath."

He glanced fondly at the snake around his shoulders, and Nagini slithered to the ground. The arms tightened around Narcissa's shoulders as she struggled harder, kicking and screaming. Draco was going to die, humiliated and in agony; Nagini glided through the grass, closer and closer, as Narcissa screamed her son's name, watching helplessly as his death approached. He had squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating the pain and shrieks of laughter Narcissa knew would follow...

Then, she heard something: a distant rumble, like a thunderstorm, growing louder with each passing second. It registered dimly—mere background noise at first, then something she could no longer ignore. Her screams were lost to the din.

She watched as Neville threw the Hat from his head, clutching a long, ruby-handled sword. The spell holding him to the earth broke, and he raced toward her son. In one fluid motion he severed the snake's head from its body. The Dark Lord screamed in rage but that too was lost beneath the tumult.

Surprised, the Death Eater holding Narcissa captive loosened his grip just enough for her to break free. She spun around, driving her boot into his stomach, then retrieved his wand from the grass. Only then did she comprehend what was happening.

Hundreds of men and women poured in from around the school boundaries: families, friends and allies of those who defended the school. Their war cries split the dawn. A sixteen-foot-high giant ran forward, and centaurs stampeded in from the forest, felling Death Eaters with a barrage of arrows. Narcissa had only a moment to take this in; then a hand grasped her wrist and she felt herself pulled toward the school. When they neared her son, Narcissa cried out, but her rescuer had already come to a halt.

"Looks like we made it just in time," Kingsley Shaklebolt shouted above the roar of battle. He turned to Draco, quickly performed the needed countercurse, and helped Asteria to her feet.

Narcissa had no time to thank him. She took hold of her son's hand and held it tightly as they were pushed through the school doors.


	7. Part Seven

_Thanks to Oracle92, The Glowing Mischief, Analie209, RemmyBlack, L.A.H.H., JoStone, Sister to the Dark Lord, flamingbunnies, LupineMoon and RavenclawRebel for the reviews! _

* * *

The battle passed in a blur. Narcissa could never be sure, afterward, if the battle raged for five minutes or twenty. Nor could she remember details of all the dozens of tiny skirmishes she had seen at the corners of her vision as she defended herself and her son. What she did remember, with more clarity than she would have liked, was her sister.

Once Bellatrix got her bearings, she immediately scanned the crowd for her nephew. The malicious gleam in her eye alerted Narcissa to her intentions the moment their gazes locked. Narcissa raised her wand, but at that moment a spell hit her sister from behind and she whirled, furious, to face the attacker.

She remembered the Dark Lord, throwing curses and jinxes at whoever happened to cross his path. Over the roar of battle, Narcissa made out three words that fueled her rage: _Kill the traitor. _

Narcissa turned in a circle, shouting her son's name, and finally spotted him locked in a duel. The thought of firing a Killing Curse flitted briefly through her mind; then she thought of what would happen when the battle ended. Justice would be better served slowly, over a lifetime in Azkaban, than ended swiftly with a single curse. Her Stunner hit him square in the chest, and he fell to the floor. Draco spun round, smiling briefly; then his eyes focused on something behind her, and he raised his wand.

She turned, brandishing her wand, and wasn't at all surprised to see Bellatrix. Her fury rose.

"Get away from my son."

Her sister's eyes burned like coals. "He's a traitor, Cissy."

"Yes, Bella, I know. I've always known."

Bellatrix's eyes widened, and she raised her wand. Narcissa spun away, dodging the curse, and faced her sister again; but Bellatrix aimed her next curse not at Narcissa, but at Draco. Only Narcissa's Shield Charm allowed him to escape. Bellatrix's curse shattered the charm as it hit, and Narcissa landed heavily on the floor.

Anger burned through her fear as she got to her feet. For the first time ever, Narcissa looked at Bellatrix and didn't see the girl who had draped her arm around her shoulder and introduced her to the older Slytherins, who had corrected her homework and taught her how to make chocolate chip cookies. She didn't see the sister who had whispered with her about parents and teachers and who looked best in their Quidditch robes.

She saw the woman who tried to kill her son.

Narcissa's next Shield Charm was stronger; she stayed on her feet when it shattered. Surprise flickered across Bellatrix's face for an instant, but was quickly replaced by malicious pride. Her smile betrayed her thoughts: She wouldn't be beaten by her little sister.

Narcissa didn't remember every spell she cast. She didn't notice how long the duel lasted, or how many victors of other duels stopped to watch. Bellatrix's face—her burning eyes, her smug smile—spurred her. Narcissa fired curses faster than she knew she could, dodged so quickly she wasn't aware of her own feet touching the ground as she and Bellatrix danced with death.

Finally, Bellatrix began to tire. Narcissa plunged through her growing exhaustion and took advantage of the moment. Her next curse knocked Bellatrix to the floor. Narcissa didn't drop her guard, but kept her wand trained on her. A smile tugged at her lips.

"I'm sure Azkaban has missed you, Bella."

Bellatrix laughed, dabbing at her bleeding lip. "You know, Cissy, if the Dark Lord had allowed it, I would have tortured that son of yours myself."

It wasn't a Killing Curse Narcissa fired. But when it struck her heart, the effect was the same.

The Dark Lord's scream of rage made Narcissa spin around, wand at the ready. One woman didn't stand a chance against the Dark Lord, but she would fight as long as she could, survive long enough to save her son. She heard a woman's voice yell a curse close by, and saw Molly Weasley stood at her side. Kingsley Shaklebolt joined them, and Narcissa paid little attention to the curses she fired; she simply kept firing; avoiding death was her only goal now...

She didn't know which curse missed her by an inch, or if it had been intended for her or for one of her allies. All she knew was that the next instant, a voice roared _"Protego!" _The Shield Charm expanded, engulfing her, Molly and Kingsley, and the Dark Lord stopped for a moment. Only a moment, but long enough to find the source of the charm.

Narcissa laughed. Molly Weasley's hand flew to her mouth, and Kingsley Shaklebolt nearly dropped his wand. She glanced over her shoulder and saw her son, eyes wide, laughing in surprise and joy. Then silence descended over the crowd as every eye turned in the same direction.

Harry Potter stood in the center of the Great Hall.

* * *

"I don't want anyone else to try and help." Potter and the Dark Lord began circling each other at the same moment. "It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."

Narcissa's grip tightened on the stolen wand. Far be it from her to intrude on a duel between Potter and the Dark Lord, but the battle wasn't yet over. She took a few steps backward, found her son's wrist, and pulled him forward. Her eyes never left the pair in the center of the Hall. Her own breathing sounded too loud, too intrusive, in the silence. The Dark Lord's hiss was nearly deafening.

"Potter doesn't mean that. That isn't how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?"

"Nobody." Potter's voice was steady. "There are no more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good..."

She knew without thinking who would live. Potter had offered his life once already, and gained it back before any of the Death Eaters knew for sure he had died.

"One of us? You think it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings?"

"Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me? Accident, when I decided to fight you in that graveyard? Accident, that I didn't defend myself tonight, and still survived, and returned to fight again?"

Narcissa had to remind herself not to hold her breath. No spells had yet been cast, no curses fired, but this was a duel of a different sort: a battle of the wits. Harry would win the physical duel; would he hold his own in this one?

As the battle of words continued, Narcissa's doubt thawed. Potter had the upper hand from the beginning; that much became clear. The boy was the one asking the questions, while the Dark Lord was forced to save face by answering them. His voice grew more shrill as his panic grew.

"It matters not!" he cried at one point, and Narcissa started at the cackle he let loose. Beside her, she felt Draco flinch at the sound. "It matters not whether Snape was mine or Dumbledore's, or what petty obstacles they tried to put in my path!"

Narcissa was never sure, afterward, how long they circled each other, two wolves tearing at one another with words. Never once did Potter lose his temper. Never once did the Dark Lord's words catch him by surprise. It was as though the scene had been scripted long beforehand, and Potter was the only one who knew his lines by heart. Narcissa waited, watching, listening for the one line that would bring the Dark Lord to his knees.

"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."

Had Narcissa been prepared, she might have laughed. Instead, the revelation shocked her as much as the Dark Lord—or her son, who glanced at her in surprise the same moment she glanced at him.

The Dark Lord recovered quickly—or appeared to. Narcissa thought he was merely covering his shock behind a layer of arrogance. "But what does it matter?" he said softly. "Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill alone...and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy..."

There was venom surrounding the name, and Narcissa felt a sudden surge of fear. What if she were wrong, and Potter was about to lose? Was she simply seeing what she wanted to see?

"But you're too late," Potter said. "You've missed your chance. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took this wand from him."

He twitched the wand, and only then did Narcissa realize it was her son's. Potter's voice dropped to a whisper.

"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it? Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does...I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

The sun rose over the enchanted ceiling, and Narcissa squinted from the sudden glare. She didn't see the spells fired, but their voices carried throughout the Hall.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

"_Expelliarmus!_"

The spells collided with a bang so loud Narcissa nearly fell. The sun left her eyes and she saw the point where they met, saw the Elder Wand spin across the enchanted ceiling, as the jet of green light rebounded and hit the Dark Lord in the chest. He fell, eyes rolling backward into his head, and Potter caught the Elder Wand before the Dark Lord hit the floor.

Silence rippled over the Hall for a moment, only to be broken by deafening cheers from the crowd. Narcissa heard a shriek of joy and realized it was hers; it joined with similar cries as the thrill of Potter's victory swept over the Great Hall. Tears poured down her cheeks as she embraced her son, crushing him to her chest. When he pulled away, she saw he wept as well. Laughter joined the tears in an outpouring of joy too great for words.

The Dark Lord was dead. At last, at long last, her son was free.


	8. Part Eight

_Thanks to Sister to the Dark Lord, Aaliyanna's-SeventhHeaven, L.A.H.H., RemmyBlack, RavenclawRebel, The Glowing Mischief, flamingbunnies, Analie209 and LupineMoon for the reviews!_

_After this story is over, I plan to either start a companion piece about Asteria or begin a rewrite of _Power of the Press. _(For those of you who haven't read it, it's basically a Harry Potter/ everything-and-the-kitchen-sink crossover that got a bit out of hand. But I still like the premise, and I've thought of a few more directions I could go with it, so I'm going to rewrite it.) I've posted a poll on my profile as to which story I should start first. So go vote! Democracy shall decide! __  
_

* * *

The celebration began almost immediately following the battle. Sorrow for the lost was replaced by delirious joy, and old enmities vanished in the glow of victory. Narcissa released her son and found herself locked in a tearful embrace with Molly Weasley. Years of public and private insults, of bitterness and mutual disdain—for a moment, Narcissa forgot they existed. A casual observer might think the two women had been friends for years, from the way they held one another and cried on each other's shoulders. They pulled away, looked into each others' faces, and laughed.

Like the battle itself, the ensuing celebration passed in a blur: a wonderful, dizzying blur of smiles and laughter and tears. Food was brought from the kitchens, though it seemed to magically appear on the tables. For all Narcissa knew, it did. A few of the house-elves milled around the Great Hall, but most had vanished at the battle's conclusion. How anyone could manage to cook after such a battle, Narcissa could only guess.

While Narcissa's back was turned, Draco disappeared. Frightened, she whirled round, calling his name, thinking of Bellatrix and others who had leaped at the chance to take his life when the Dark Lord failed. Against her will, she pictured him Stunned or Imperioused, led from the celebration and—

A hand settled on her shoulder, and she jumped. Hagrid's voice spoke from a few feet above her ear. "Yer son's over there."

Narcissa looked where he pointed. Draco sat at one of the tables, watching Neville intently. Neville lifted the ruby-handled sword and spoke as she watched; and although she couldn't hear what was said, she knew he was explaining how the sword came to be in his possession. Draco studied it almost reverently as Asteria asked Neville another question.

She laughed, more to ease her nerves than from humor. "Sorry," she said, though she knew there was no reason to apologize. "I...I thought..." Trailing off, Narcissa shook her head.

"It's all righ'," Hagrid said, and she knew he understood. Narcissa wanted to flee the silence that followed, but felt she shouldn't. The gamekeeper had something to say, and she needed to hear it—if only to prove she was willing to listen. The silence stretched until Narcissa felt she _must_ speak; it was only a lack of words that kept her silent.

"Yeh _knew_," he said at last. "All along, You-Know-Who was braggin' an' makin' a show of Harry bein' dead, an' yeh _knew_..." He looked away, staring at her son's table.

"I couldn't say anything," she said quietly after a long pause. "I wanted to. I wanted to tear him down, watch him crumble before my eyes and laugh..." Narcissa clenched her fist at the unexpected rage that still burned at the Dark Lord's memory. "I wanted him to suffer, Hagrid. But if I'd told him then..."

"Harry wouldn' be with us. Yeah, I've though' it through." He gave out a laugh, shaking his head. "Lucky he didn' send anyone else."

Narcissa sniffed. "Don't think it's because he trusted me. He only thought I was too stupid to tell a lie."

"And yeh used it to bring 'im down. Damn clever, if yeh ask me."

She smiled up at him, and he returned it. They continued watching the table of Neville's admirers. Draco looked up from his plate as a younger boy asked him a question. He dropped his gaze and shook his head, then reached out almost instinctively and touched the flat edge of the blade. A look of wonder crossed his face, and he smiled a little.

"Brave boy," Hagrid mused.

A dozen memories sprang unbidden to her mind—Draco agreeing to betray the Dark Lord; Draco clutching a cup of tea, clearly in pain, refusing to shed a single tear; Draco tossing the remains of a diadem at the Dark Lord's feet. The last image brought tears to her eyes: tears of pride and joy and sorrow and relief all mixed together.

"Yes," Narcissa said softly. "Yes, he is."

* * *

Two days passed before Narcissa had an opportunity to speak with Potter. She spotted him midway along a third-floor corridor, talking to her son, and ducked behind a corner to listen.

"...reckon you saved my life," Draco was saying. "I mean, you saved a lot of people, but..."

"You were one of them. I know."

"Yeah." She heard him shuffle his feet uncomfortably. "So...thanks."

Narcissa dared a look. Potter was smiling. "You're welcome."

"So...you're coming?"

"Just set the date, and I'll be there."

Draco smiled, then walked away. Potter started off in the opposite direction.

"Potter?"

He stopped, turned around. "Yes? Oh, hello...Mrs. Malfoy."

"Potter, I..." What could she say? Nothing he hadn't heard a thousand times before, from a thousand sources closer to him than she. "Are you all right? You look exhausted."

He nodded, looking away. "Everyone does, I expect. Cleanup's no picnic."

Narcissa bit her lip. Punch-drunk gargoyles and crumbling staircases were nothing compared to the bloodstains. She tried to clean them quickly, without wondering who had left it there, but the question still haunted her. Each bloodstain was a unique reminder of an injury—or worse.

"You lied to him."

From the way he said it, Narcissa sensed he had pondered the incident for some time. "He would've used someone else if I hadn't."

"I didn't get it. I mean, I thought I did...but...I didn't really understand until Draco challenged him." He shook his head. "I'll be honest with you: I wouldn't have thought it of him."

"The Dark Lord didn't exactly treat him with kindness."

"Yeah. I figured." Narcissa looked at him in surprise, and he smiled grimly. "Dumbledore said he didn't treat his allies any better than his enemies."

"No," she whispered, unable to look at him. "He didn't." Unless that ally happened to be her sister—a woman who would have relished the murder of her nephew. For a long moment, neither spoke.

"Thank you," Potter said at last.

"For what?"

"You saved my life. Like you said, he would've had someone else finish the job, if you'd told him the truth." He smiled. "If not for you, we would've lost the war."

For what felt like a long time, Narcissa couldn't speak. She fought for a response—any response—that would betray the falsehood in Potter's statement; some hole she could find in his logic. But the truth was plain: She had been the only one willing to lie that night. Had the Dark Lord chosen another, the Order would have lost the war.

"I couldn't let that happen. If the Order had lost, Draco would be..."

"Yeah. I know." Potter looked at the floor. "I'd, ah...I'd better be getting back to work. Still lots to do."

Narcissa nodded. "So should I." Grateful for the escape, she turned away.

"Mrs. Malfoy?"

She stopped, looked over her shoulder. Potter smiled shyly. "Draco's lucky to have a mum like you."

Heat flooded her cheeks, and Narcissa could only smile.

* * *

_For those of you who were wondering, there will be a couple more chapters of this. Hope you enjoy! _


	9. Part Nine

_Thanks to herpderp14, Aailyanna's-SeventhHeaven, Ashyia Francis Belladonna, LupineMoon, The Glowing Mischief, JoStone, flamingbunnies, L.A.H.H. and Analie209 for the reviews! _

* * *

"This court finds the accused guilty of all charges, and recommends full punishment, equalling nothing less than a life sentence in Azkaban."

Narcissa had heard the same refrain many times over the past two weeks, repeated at the end of every trial. Not once had she disagreed with the verdict. These Death Eaters deserved every minute of their life sentences.

When she learned Draco was to testify at many of their trials, she Apparated straight to the Ministry and demanded entry to Kingsley's office. Once the new Minister of Magic convinced his security wizards that Narcissa Malfoy had not come for an attempt on his life, she wasted no time in making her case clear.

"Draco can't testify, Kingsley."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Is he ill?"

"No, but he can't face them—especially not the Carrows. You can't make him do this."

Kingsley gestured to a chair, and she sat. "Would you like some tea, Narcissa?"

Narcissa felt her cheeks flush. This was her ally, after all; a man who was quickly becoming her friend. She shouldn't have spoken so bluntly. "No, thank you." She thought he might pour two cups anyway, but he remained seated.

"Your son is a wonderful boy. Smart, courageous, and observant. We _need _his testimony."

"He's not ready to face them, Kingsley."

"Have you asked him?"

The question was like a slap. "Have I...no. No, I haven't. But you don't know everything the Carrows did to him—_I_ don't even know! If he hasn't told me, do you honestly think he'll bare his soul to a crowd of strangers?"

"Narcissa." He spoke her name quietly, gently. "I know Draco suffered under them. A lot of students did. And this trial is just as much for their benefit as it is for his."

A wave of guilt washed over her. Of course Draco hadn't been the only one, and a few bruises didn't compare to the Cruciatus Curse. "We already know they did it."

"Everyone has the right to a fair trial."

"Perhaps you should make an exception."

To her mild surprise, Kingsley had smiled. "Just wait until you see who's conducting the trials."

Narcissa didn't recognize the tall, mustached man who sat between Arthur Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt. When Amycus saw him, his eyes widened, and he fought the chains binding him to the chair.

"_You_! You were supposed to be on our side, not with those _filth_!"

The man smiled. "We can argue hygiene later, Mr. Carrow. But for now, let's focus on the matter of your trial, shall we?"

Asteria leaned over. "I'm so glad they got Daddy to conduct these trials. Adds a nice layer of irony, in my opinion."

Narcissa looked at her in surprise. "That's your father?"

The young Ravenclaw grinned. "Oh, yes. He spent the war forging alliances with every Death Eater he came in contact with, hoping they'd prove useful one day. Now he gets to break them all." She sighed happily. "What I wouldn't give for a camera. I'd love to frame their faces when they see who's sending them to Azkaban."

Narcissa couldn't help but smile. Neville Longbottom was called forward and gave his testimony, representing those students who had been subjected to the Carrows' cruelty. Although he himself had never been tortured, Narcissa thought the leader of Dumbledore's Army a fitting representative for the oppressed at Hogwarts. He stared confidently ahead, turning to the accused once or twice with a small smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom," Kingsley said when he had finished. "The Wizengamot will now call Draco Malfoy to the stand."

He wore the robes Tilly had brought from the manor: light grey with green trim, handsome but not extravagant. He walked quickly, looking neither right nor left, pointedly avoiding the Carrows' eyes upon him. When he took a seat beside the judges' balcony, he looked down at his hands.

"Mr. Malfoy." He looked up at the sound of Arthur Weasley's voice. Kingsley and Asteria's father both smiled warmly. "You have been chosen to represent the purebloods coerced into performing the Cruciatus Curse on their fellow students. Could you describe their methods?"

Narcissa grasped the edge of the bench with both hands. She had spent the better part of two days before the trial helping her son arrange the words of his testimony. Although she was unable to obtain a list of sample questions (Kingsley had given her a dubious look when she asked) she had guessed at some of them and helped him prepare.

But as she knew all too well, the most eloquent words often fled in the face of fear.

Draco drew a breath. "They began with a schedule, arranged by House. Gryffindors were some of the first assigned."

"Why Gryffindors?"

"Well..." He paused, obviously feeling the heat of the Carrows' stares. "Humiliation, mostly. They—the Carrows, I mean—they figured the Gryffindors would all refuse, or else they wouldn't be able to do it."

"So the Gryffindors were set up to fail from the beginning."

"Yes." Draco's voice was very soft. "Yes, they were."

Asteria's father cleared his throat. "Were other students set up for failure as well?"

Draco looked up. "Oh yes. Those who weren't good at it were scheduled just as often as those who were."

"And can you describe what happened to those students who did not perform the curse up to standard?"

He drew another shaky breath. "The ones who refused—Neville, Ginny, and the rest—you could say they had it worse. Usually they weren't tortured, but they'd leave the dungeons with a few cuts and bruises. Sometimes I'd be in another part of the dungeons and hear the Carrows piling on the insults, threatening worse if they kept it up."

"What about the purebloods who simply didn't have a, shall we say,_ talent_ for the curse?"

"More of the same. A black eye here, a bruise there, screaming and shouting about shaming your family—only with us, they used Glamor Charms to hide the bruises."

Murmurs rippled throughout the courtroom.

"You volunteered!" Alecto's voice carried through the courtroom. "You and that Greengrass girl—the pair of you enjoyed it just as much as Crabbe and Goyle!"

For the first time, Draco smiled. "Only after I learned how to fake it."

"Could you go into more detail, Mr. Malfoy?" Kingsley asked.

Draco sat up a little straighter. "We—the purebloods who faked it—we developed a code, see. After a while, students learned that if your—if the pureblood assigned to you—started with 'This is how it works,' you weren't in for any real torture."

The Carrows sat back, stunned, and Draco caught Narcissa's eye from across the room. She smiled encouragement, and he returned it.

"I believe that concludes our questions," Kingsley said. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. You may go."

* * *

Draco wasn't asked to testify at his father's trial. When Narcissa asked why, Kingsley explained that he didn't think a son should be forced to testify against his father. "If you don't want to testify, I can speak to the Wizengamot."

"No, no, they need to hear what I have to say."

Kingsley met her gaze. "Are you sure you want to do this, Narcissa?"

She considered her answer. "Yes," she said at last. "Yes, Kingsley, I am."

When she was called to the stand, she walked briskly, keeping her focus straight ahead. Lucius' eyes bored into her, but she resisted the urge to return his gaze.

"Narcissa Malfoy," Arthur said. "You have been asked by the Wizengamot to speak of Lucius' Malfoy's doings during the war—namely, where his loyalties lie. Your loyalty has been proven to rest solely with your son and, by extension, the Order of the Phoenix and the Boy Who Lived. Did your husband share your leanings?"

"No," she said with minimal hesitation, causing a wave of murmurs.

"Could you elaborate, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Narcissa laced her fingers in her lap, framing her response carefully. "When Draco took the Mark, it was for no other reason than his father's failure. He was to be Lucius' punishment for what the Dark Lord considered questionable loyalty between the wars, and failure at the onset of the second. The Dark Lord would punish the father through his son."

She paused, hearing the silence while the courtroom waited.

"I betrayed the Dark Lord for my son. Lucius turned a deaf ear to the verbal abuse he suffered, a blind eye to the torture he endured."

"That's not true," Lucius said. "Do you think his treatment escaped my notice? I saw everything the Dark Lord did to our son."

"And did nothing," Narcissa said. "You could have spoken to him. You could have begged him not to punish Draco for your failure—"

"What would that have accomplished?" The chains clinked as he stirred against them. "The Dark Lord's mind was made up, Narcissa; he chose our son and nothing I did or said would have changed that decision."

"You could have tried!" She rose from her seat. "You could have tried to change his mind! If you cared about Draco at _all_, you wouldn't have—"

"You think I didn't care?" He strained against the chains binding him to the chair, but they only drew more tightly around his arms. "You think it didn't tear me to pieces to see Draco treated that way?"

"'Leave him,' you said! He could hardly breathe, he'd been tortured so severely, and you told me to leave him on the floor!"

"I was following the Dark Lord's wishes—for Draco's own good!"

"Oh, and you'll tell me it was for Draco's own good you would have let him die?"

"_I—had—no—choice_!"

A gavel pounded against the judge's table. "Order, please, order," Mr. Greengrass said. "Mrs. Malfoy, please take your seat."

She sat, heat flooding her cheeks. Her eyes smarted; only then did she notice the tears coursing down her cheeks. A few more bangs from the gavel silenced the excited murmuring from the audience.

"If you will both kindly observe the dignity of this court," Mr. Greengrass said, "we will continue with this trial."

* * *

Narcissa didn't return to Andromeda's house until long after sunset. She knew her sister and son would want to hear the results, but she couldn't face them. A quick glance in the mirror said her face still bore the unmistakable stain of anger, and her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. She sat in the Atrium until the sun sank red-orange below the horizon, then rose and went to the Leaky Cauldron. She chose a table in the corner and nursed her drink, avoiding eye contact with all who entered. Not until the moon shone brightly in a dark blue sky did she stop trembling.

Soft golden light emanated from one of the front windows. Narcissa sighed. So much for avoidance. Drawing a breath for courage, she slipped quietly inside.

A few steps took her into the front room, where a fire burned cheerfully. Draco sat before the fireplace, a blanket drawn around his shoulders. He managed a small smile.

"Andy's already in bed," he said as she lowered herself onto the sofa. "Thought I'd stay up and wait for you."

"I didn't worry you, did I?"

"A little."

"Sorry."

"S'okay."

They watched the logs crackle and burn.

"Dad got life, didn't he?"

Narcissa said nothing, knowing her silence was answer enough.

"I thought he might. I-I wasn't sure, but..."

"Only a loyal servant of the Dark Lord would let his son die without a fight."

"He wasn't _that_ loyal, Mum."

"Tell that to the Wizengamot."

Draco watched the fire. "He wasn't loyal. Just scared."

"So were you." He didn't answer, and she sighed. "Maybe you're right, Draco. But the fact of the matter is, you made different choices. Yours saved you from the Wizengamot. Your father's put him at their mercy."

He absently rubbed his left forearm with his thumb, no doubt feeling blank skin where the Mark used to be.

"I considered telling him," she said quietly. "I nearly did, more than once. But each time, I stopped, because I knew what he would do with that information."

"He would have told the Dark Lord. I know."

"Maybe it was familiarity," she said, and felt her son watch her as she spoke. "He took the Mark shortly before we married. You could say that most of his adult life was spent under its shadow."

"But?"

"But..." She drew a breath, meeting his gaze. "You saw it differently than he did, Draco. Oh, Lucius might have tried to convince you it was an honor, the highest a pureblood could aspire to, but once you took it, you saw it for what it was: a death sentence awaiting a crime."

He looked away.

"I'm glad you saw it that way." She smiled sadly. "It saved your life."

Draco smiled, the fire flickering in his storm-grey eyes. "Yeah. I guess it did."

"You had the courage to rebel—courage your father didn't possess." Tears stung her eyes. "I was terrified when you challenged the Dark Lord, sick with fear because I thought you would lose your life...but since then, I...I've never been prouder."

His eyes grew moist. "Thanks, Mum."

Narcissa put an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close. She wanted to say more, but no words came. Before long, he was asleep on her shoulder. She stood carefully and placed his head on one of the sofa pillows, drew another blanket over him, and kissed his hair. Casting one last glance at her son, sleeping peacefully on the sofa, she tiptoed from the room.


	10. Part Ten

_Well, here we are. Officially the last chapter of this fic. Thanks to LadyLilyMalfoy, L.A.H.H., flamingbunnies, The Glowing Mischief, Ashyia Francis Belladonna, RemmyBlack, RavenclawRebel, LupineMoon, Analie209 and Aaliyanna's-SeventhHeaven for the reviews. Also, thanks to those of you who have stuck with this story! I enjoyed writing it, and I'm a bit sorry it has to end. I have plans for a companion piece, though, so be on the lookout for that. And I also plan to revamp _Power of the Press_, for anyone who's interested. I love you guys! :) Thank you so much for sticking with me through this story. _

* * *

Saturday dawned cloudy and warm over the ocean, soft grey clouds threatening a summer storm. For now it was only a threat; the sand remained dry, the sea calm.

It was a simple little grave—befitting a simple life, Narcissa mused. The epitaph, roughly carved on a pillow-like white stone, was even simpler: HERE LIES DOBBY, A FREE ELF. Only six words. Six words to describe the house-elf. Six words to tell his story. No matter how hard she tried, Narcissa couldn't think of a single thing to add. Harry Potter had said it all.

Narcissa traced the inscription with her finger, and memories flooded back. Harsh words for nearly flawless work. Beatings for a stray, insincere remark. Voices, her own among them, screaming the elf's name in rage. Had she really meant all of what she'd said? Narcissa hoped she hadn't, but it didn't matter now. Dobby left their family having taken every word to heart.

She lay a daffodil on the grave, bright against the new grass. The tide of guilt and shame ebbed some, but didn't disappear completely. Narcissa was certain it never would.

"Never thought I'd see you mourning a house-elf."

Narcissa turned to her sister with a sad smile. "I never thought I'd see Draco treated like one."

Andromeda shifted baby Teddy in her arms, staring at the grave. "Potter told me what he did, during the Easter incident." She smiled slightly. "He died bravely, so I hear."

"Yes," Narcissa whispered. It was all she could manage past the lump in her throat. Voices floated up from the beach, their words muffled by the crashing waves. Andromeda smiled.

"Sounds like they're here."

"Already?"

"Draco didn't seem eager to hold onto those old robes, Cissy." She tilted her head toward the cliff and the voices. "Come on. He won't start without you."

* * *

There were no paths from the cottage to the ocean, so Narcissa Apparated from Dobby's grave. Andromeda appeared closer to the group, but Narcissa paused for a moment, unseen, and watched.

Twelve figures clustered around a rickety old canoe. She spotted the three Weasleys first, their flaming red hair vivid against the dismal sky. Beside Ron, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Theodore Nott and Millicent Bulstrode stood opposite the three Gryffindors. Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood stood nearest the boat, second only to Asteria Greengrass, who knelt with her back to Narcissa. Andromeda stayed a few feet back, cradling Teddy in her arms. On the other side of the boat, facing her but with his head lowered, was Draco. He looked up at Potter with a grin, then spoke, his answer to the unheard question muffled by the waves.

Spotting her, Draco waved. All heads turned; all hands joined in the salute.

Raising her hand in greeting, Narcissa made her way across the sand. Wind, thick with salt and smelling faintly of rain, whipped through her hair and robes. Asteria smiled when she reached the group.

"Took you long enough," she said, still smiling.

"What did I miss?"

"Nothing, really," Neville said. "Draco's just making sure those robes look _perfect_ before they're burned."

"Is that a crime?" He laid his polished mask in the boat.

"No, but it's bloody irritating." Ginny raked her fingers through the knots the wind had left in her hair.

"You should turn the robes over," George Weasley said. "Put the mask at the other end, if you know what I mean."

Everyone snorted a laugh.

"You know, I'm almost tempted to do that," Draco said, lifting the mask. It glinted in the veiled sunlight.

"Be more tempted, then," Ron said.

Draco shrugged, setting the mask in the canoe. "Burning it should be good enough, I think."

Narcissa knelt on the sand and peered into the boat. Though she knew what she would find, the sight brought a rush of warmth toward her son: His Death Eater robes were carefully laid out along the bottom of the canoe, the mask at the top. When he had worn them, the ensemble had seemed at once fearsome and oppressive, as though the uniform itself wished its wearer harm. Now, they appeared weak and defeated. Narcissa wondered if they hadn't bore some sort of enchantment, however small, that broke at the Dark Lord's death.

Draco smiled at her, and she returned it. A moment passed; then he stood. "Looks like it's time for launch. You're all ready, then?"

There were nods and enthusiastic words of assent.

Draco took a small bag from his pocket and emptied a bright red powder into the canoe, sprinkling it over the robes and mask. With a grin, he turned to Narcissa.

"Mum? You'll do the honors?"

Narcissa came forward and grasped the sides of the canoe. The mask stared vacantly up at her, and she couldn't help but smile as she pushed the boat into the water. It took little effort; the robes were hardly any weight at all. Still, she gave the boat a mighty shove, shielding her eyes as it drifted out to sea.

A fireball soared from the tip of Draco's wand, landing in the canoe. There was a brief moment of silence; then a loud _BOOM _shuddered through the air. The canoe burst into a hundred pieces.

Narcissa couldn't contain a laugh. It burst out of her as she jumped and clapped her hands like a schoolgirl. Laughter and cheers filled the air as the emblems of her son's nightmare went up in smoke.

"That's it for those horrid old things!" Ginny cried as the sound faded.

Draco laughed. "God, that was awesome."

Ron grinned. "Could we do it again?"

"Only had one set, mate."

"Still. That was beautiful."

It was indeed, Narcissa thought. More beautiful still, however, was the expression on her son's face. He watched the place where his robes had burned, the thin curtain of smoke that still hovered over the water. For the first time in years, he looked at peace.

As though sensing her thoughts, Draco turned and looked at her. His smile widened. Narcissa thought she could simply stand there forever and watch him, but he came forward and threw his arms around her. The words he whispered were for her alone.

"Thank you."

The simple phrase brought tears to her eyes. With those two words, he told her he understood: that he knew the sacrifices she'd made, the risks she'd taken, to bring them both to this moment. He'd seen her heartache, her righteous anger and determination, and loved her for it. Her defiance had given him the will to persevere.

Two words. Two words, but they said it all.

Narcissa held him tightly, and whispered the truth she had clung to for the past two years, the source of her courage and strength:

"I love you, Draco."

The end


End file.
